Holy Water (Cannot Help You Now)
by Abrus
Summary: Upon waking as a vampire, the only thing Isabella knows about her past is her name. Across from her, a second girl named Bree is also awakening. Taken in by two veterans of the Southern Wars, Peter and Charlotte, they spend their newborn year getting strong. But when their creators come looking for them, their past will come back to haunt them in ways they never could have guessed.
1. Chapter 1

**March 20** **th** **, 2005**

The burning stops.

For long seconds, that is the only thing I am aware of. Next comes the sound of rushing water, all around and above. After that, there is the feeling of it surrounding me. It seeps into my ears, weights my hair. There is fabric on my skin that now clings uncomfortably.

Somewhere in this same room there is a female whimpering in agony. It is this that makes my eyes fly open at last. Time seems to stand still as my brain comprehends what I am seeing in milliseconds; a metal roof with metal beams, pipes that gush water onto every available surface, metal walls, and a large industrial door featuring a broken padlock chain. In another millisecond I have pushed up onto my elbow.

I'm wearing a skintight, soaked red dress. This is the sight that triggers what remains of my memory.

" _Just stuff her in the back and let's go-"_

" _We can't, the other one is in the trunk-"_

 _Muffled screams coming from the back of a sedan._

" _Sedate her, then. We have to go."_

 _An endless road, a hazy feeling in my mind… two hooded figures in the driver and passenger seats._

" _Let's see how healed this leg is… oh, look! Not at all!"_

 _After this, there is only pain and bright red blood; my blood. They break every bone, lacerate every inch of available skin. Next to me, the girl that had been in the trunk is hanging from the ceiling by her arms in heavy chains; she screams while a vampire drags its teeth through her abdomen, taking chunks of flesh with it._

I flinch away from the brutality of the muddy human memory. It is the only memory I have so far, and I am happy to tuck it away.

Ah; this writhing new vampire, her heartbeat already fading fast, is that other girl then.

" _They're going to kill us." The drugs are fading from my system. They stopped for supplies in a large city. The lights are blinding to my unfocused eyes._

 _Her knee is dislocated; neither of us can run._

" _I know," she cries._

 _Her fingers find mine. We hold on until they force us apart._

After the last flash of memory is over, I move to crawl to the other girl when a piece of paper pinned to old machinery directly above me catches my eye. It is damp and the typed words are smeared from all this water. The water gets higher and higher every second. It is very distracting. Still, I am able to force myself to focus long enough to read the blurred words.

 _Your name is Isabella._

Well, that solves that, then. Not a bad name, as far as names on mysterious notes go.

A high-pitched shriek sounds from the other side of the flooded warehouse. The other girl is down a flight of stairs, thrashing about in waist-deep water. She is still chained, but the metal shows signs of wear. It will not be difficult to break those. Her heartbeat has accelerated; I know from experience that this is arguably the most painful part of the transition, and the last.

It seems to only take a thought, and I am there next to her. I break the chains first, tearing them to bits easily. Her wrists come free as she falls. I cradle her, holding her tight to stop her thrashing as her heart beats its last.

I manage to catch the note pinned to her chains before it floats away.

 _Your name is Bree._

"Bree?" I ask tentatively. Waking is disorienting. Will she attack me? "Bree, can you hear me?"

Her eyes open; they are a striking red, with pupils blacker than night. It is only then that I notice she is dressed in an identical red dress. She's young, around fifteen or so. How old was I? Am I older? Oh, no. Hopefully I'm not _younger_ than her. I'm taller, but only barely. We're both small.

I'm distracted from these thoughts by her snarl. "Where are they?"

"Who?"

" _Them_. The ones who did this to us."

"Gone. They left these."

I hand her the notes. She's fast, faster than me, even, when she twirls out of my grip and lands delicately at the top of the stairs. She glares at the damp papers, then mashes them into tiny balls. When she throws them, they dent the metal on the other side of the warehouse.

"All I remember is that man-vamp torturing us," she spits, clearly furious.

Something seems to occur to her then. She looks me up and down, comparing our outfits, our sizes, the way I had been doing before.

"You're Isabella. I'm Bree. But what _are_ we?"

"Vampires," I say instantly. I don't have to think about the decision to speak. It's an odd feeling. My voice sounds like bells.

She snorts humorlessly. " _Well then_. God, I'm thirsty. All this water is blocking out my sense of smell, though."

I want to question how either of us know of the existence of vampires; humans probably generally do not. There seems to be some sort of context that our subconscious minds are aware of that we are not. I want to know how our new instincts seem to instantly correlate to our rational thought process.

There is so much to learn. First I have to focus. What are Bree and I? Friends? Had we known each other before? I think of the vampires that turned us prying our hands apart. They had to break our fingers to do it.

"I think…." I say slowly, trying to sort out what I feel for this girl, "I think we're _sisters_."

She raises one skeptical eyebrow; other than our build, we don't have much in common. Underneath the icing of pale, hard skin, she's darker than my own snow-white skin. My hair is dark brown with a reddish tint, where hers is nearly black.

I can't quite remember my face, but I'm sure there are more differences there.

Still, she eventually nods. "Yes. _Sisters_ feels right."

I nod back. Together, we turn and look at the door.

There is no discussion or outward decision. First we are in the warehouse, and then we are rushing out of it with all the water. Neither of us are wearing shoes; I find myself grateful for it as we run, instinctively navigating the dark forested swamp we've found ourselves in.

It doesn't feel as though we have run far; we make it to a large city in no time. A sign in one of the run-down out-skirting neighborhoods reads _Welcome to New Orleans_.

We glance at each other. It is pure luck that we haven't seen a human. We wordlessly agree to hold our breaths.

The burning in my throat only intensifies as we blur past house after house, business after business. Finally I can no longer stand it. I need to _drink_ ; my throat is on fire, my nostrils ache, and my muscles feel tight, as though they need more fuel.

I sprint into the first open business I see; it seems to be some sort of seedy bar, open into the wee hours of the morning.

I sense Bree follow me. Everything afterwards is a blur.

When I am sated, I drop the last body. Between the two of us, Bree and I did fairly well. Between approximately twenty-three people in the bar, she had ten and I had thirteen. There is a vague feeling of unease and remorse somewhere inside me, but mostly I am full. Blood coats my hands, my cheek, splatters dot my bare legs. Bree looks much the same; she tears a strip off the bottom of her satiny dress to wipe her mouth off.

We light the bar on fire before we run.

We don't make it far; we have to skirt traffic, lights, cameras, humans. Soon we get the sense that we're being followed.

"Where are they? Do you think it's _them?_ I can't smell them or I'll get thirsty again. What do _they_ smell like, anyway?" Bree asks in a whispered rush as we run, careful not to inhale.

"I don't-" I try to answer, but am abruptly cut off by another vampire slamming into my right side.

The woman pins me by the shoulders to the wall. I am stronger, but she is older and far more experienced; she's definitely more controlled, and she knows what she's doing. She holds me with a practiced hand as I snap with my teeth, struggle, and snarl.

Bree squeals across the alley, also pinned by a man. A man and a woman tortured us, turned us. Are they really just going to destroy us?

It is too late that I realize I've questioned them out loud. The two share a glance; they have our blood red eyes. Faster than even my newborn-vampire brain can comprehend, they've carried us struggling all the while in the opposite direction from which we came. I take in blurred glittering buildings, cars that move very slowly compared to us, and then trees. The smell of mud, plants, and animals is almost overwhelming. There is something fresh and at once old in the air here; I decide I like it very much.

The woman drags me through more water. This water is dirtier and heavy. It clings to the dried blood and my dress. I have stopped struggling, but Bree is still spitting and snarling. She seems to struggle with control more than I do.

"Do _not_ destroy this place," the woman hisses threateningly. She raises one eyebrow at me, catching my eyes, trying to make sure I understand. I lift my chin; she lets me go.

I retreat as fast as I can to the corner. In one moment, I am next to this strange woman, and less than a second later I am across the room. It is enough to make me pause and consider how I got there. Vampirism will take some getting used to, it seems.

Bree is free, standing still but in a defensive stance, hurling curses and accusations at our new set of kidnappers. It gives me a moment to look around. It takes only that moment to catalog the house; it is a mix of wood and brick, old plaster and fading wallpaper. The nineteenth century decor meets several modern amenities. Portraits hang on the walls; antique furniture blends with rustic chandeliers and wide, open windows. It seems to be a very nice home. Photographs of the two vampires reside in tidy corners, on the retro refrigerator's door, and in small frames. Out the window is a swampy bayou; the house is moderately sized, raised on a wooden platform that doubles as a porch. I look down and see water through the thin cracks in the floor board.

" _Bree_ ," I say quietly.

She pauses in her tirade, looking away from the two with hesitant distrust.

"Bree, I don't think these two are them. Look around. This home is beautiful and cozy. I doubt they would have tortured and turned us only to invite us over for some sweet tea on the porch."

Bree studies my earnest expression, now posed to flee. She glances around, taking in all the details as I had before.

"Why don't you both calm down and allow a proper introduction," the woman says. She is small, with that strange tan-pale skin similar to Bree's. Her hair is black and her eyes wide. She would have been Hispanic in her human life. The accent lingers underneath an obviously newer Southern one. It makes her voice sound strange.

"That would be great if we remembered anything about ourselves to tell you," Bree snaps, but it doesn't have nearly as much (literal) venom as before.

The man observes us quietly, his eyes far away, almost as if he sees through us. There's a crease between his nearly silver eyebrows. His hair is just as shockingly pale, his skin even whiter than mine. What must he have looked like as a human, then? The only thing average about him is his height and build.

"My name is Charlotte," the woman offers, but her eyes rest on her male companion.

"I'm Isabella," I say. I glance at Bree, trying to appear encouraging.

"Bree," she mutters grudgingly, obviously still not sold on trusting these people.

"My name is Peter," says the weird silver vamp. His eyes seem to refocus. He studies the both of us, nose crinkling in distaste at the conflicting smells we carry; blood, city, mud, water, warehouse, this home, the two of them, ourselves.

After he is done observing us, he turns to Charlotte, who seems to be waiting for something. He grins. "Oh, honey, do we have a time ahead of us."

Charlotte blinks, not expecting that. Then she smiles too. "Well, ladies, let's get you out of those wet clothes, shall we?"

When Bree and I turn to follow her into another room and a new life, we link hands.

* * *

 **March 14** **th** **, 2006**

"Settle down, damn rowdy newborns!"

Bree rolls her eyes.

I lay down another card.

"Uno," I murmur.

" _I said settle down in there_! Geez. Newborns never listen."

Peter grins at us through the doorway. His red eyes glint; his skin glistens in the sunlight pouring through.

"Are you seriously going to yell at us for being newborns every minute of the _last six days_ of our newborn year?!" Bree demands, slamming all of her cards down. She spares me a quick glance. "I fold."

"Well, I'll have to go the rest of eternity without saying anything about it, so yeah. Probably."

"You said yourself we're the best newborns you've ever dealt with," Bree reminds him, quickly gathering our card game and putting it back in the box.

"Maybe I say that to all the newborns."

"He does not!" Charlotte calls out as she comes through the door. She carries three heavy boxes effortlessly, sliding them onto our table.

"Hello, dear. How was the hospital?" Peter kisses Charlotte obnoxiously on the mouth.

She snickers, shoving him away. "Busy. I managed to get at least two of everyone's favorites, though."

Bree is about to stand to help Charlotte put away the new stash of blood bags when I notice it; Peter has a dazed look on his face. I grab her wrist and gesture vaguely at Charlotte.

Usually it takes only a few seconds for Peter to get information from his _knower_. A human would never notice it. It is unusual for him to be dazed so long.

"Hon?" Charlotte calls softly.

He doesn't respond. Bree and I share a worried glance. In all the time that we've known him, he's never been this far gone. Several tense moments go by. To my hyperactive vampire brain, they feel like eternity.

Peter finally blinks.

" _Pack_." He says.

Bree and I flash to our room without question. Behind us, I hear Charlotte transfer the blood bags into a cooler by the door rather than into the fridge.

"What's happening?" Bree asks. Her red eyes follow my movements. I pull first her suitcase and then mine out of our respective armoires.

"Not sure." I'm about to ask if she wants her favorite halter top when Peter tells us to pack rain boots.

"Why are we leaving New Orleans? Is there going to be a flood? A mass murder? Oh, no. What if _they_ come back, Isabella?"

"No one's coming back for us! If they wanted us, they would have been here three months ago, or six months ago, or _nine_ months ago. Face it, Bree, they just wanted to have fun torturing a couple of humans and watching scared newborns run wild and probably get murdered by annoyed adult vampires."

Over and over again, we had discussed this. As the year had passed, our control growing all the while, the chances of our creators returning for us seemed more and more slim. As our trust and love for Peter and Charlotte grew, it seemed less important.

"We're strong now, practically invincible. Peter says he thinks one or both of us might unearth hidden gifts with our control finally secure. We're both enrolled in part-time night classes online, less than a year after turning. We feed on criminals and accept donated blood bags to Charlotte's charity; she keeps half for us and _actually donates_ the other half. They've both trained us to fight within an inch of our lives, but not to pick fights. We're _good vampires_. If they come back for us, which they won't, they'll meet a fight. We're not those two frightened human girls anymore," I rant. How many times had I made this same argument?

"No, you're not," Charlotte says from the door. She watches us meticulously fold and pack our clothing, our makeup, watches as we blur to our shared bathroom to grab things from the shower.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Washington," Charlotte gives a small half shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, but ruins it by biting her lip. She and Peter had regained more of their human habits as time had passed for them. Bree and I still appear less human, but we're working on being looser with our facial expressions and body language.

Bree perks up immediately. Her vampire emotions are even more intense than mine; the bedframe creaks under the added weight of her strained muscles bearing down on the footboard in her excitement. "Oh, Charlotte, _really?!_ Washington, D.C?! That's amazing! I've always wanted to go! I can see the Lincoln Memorial, and the Holocaust museum, oh! And Isabella! We can go to the Smithsonian and see all the dresses of all the First Ladies, and-"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry! Not Washington, D.C. _Washington State_ ," Charlotte stresses.

Bree's face falls instantly. She goes completely silent, so different from moments before. She considers her new destination for a moment. I watch her amusedly. "Well, alright. There's not much to do there so I guess it'll leave me plenty of time to read my new books."

Without a second thought, Bree unzips her neatly packed suitcase and adds fifteen books.

"That'll last you a whole three days," I tease, "if you only read during the daylight hours! And at human pace!"

Bree sticks her tongue out at me.

Charlotte smiles, relieved that we're still on board with Peter's impromptu trip.

"Flight leaves in an hour girls! Had to catch the first one. This is important." Peter's voice is strained.

The teasing mood vanishes instantly.

Bree zips her suitcase and I take a deep breath; bayou air fills my lungs, blocks all else with its scent. It's a delightful mixture; its scents has clung to my skin, hair, and clothes since I began staying here.

I look around our warm, quirky home.

"I hope we come home soon," I whisper.

"I don't think we will," Bree whispers back.

I try not to contemplate her being right.

* * *

When the plane touches down in Seattle, Bree and I sprint for the roughest areas. Being trapped on two different planes for almost seven hours with nothing but the smell of tasty humans had been a strain.

"Better let them be safe than sorry," Charlotte shrugs. "Better'n 'em killing Innocents."

Innocents are what we call the people we have determined do not deserve to die; people that are not murderers or rapists or child abusers, but just regular humans.

Peter and Charlotte accompany us just in case, but we're fine. Our newborn strength grows weaker every day. With the taste of fresh blood, my head clears. I drop the scumbag that had been trying to proposition a twelve year old online only moments ago. His body hits the shallow grave I dug in the overgrown area of a park with a dull thud. "Now what?"

"We didn't want to alarm you girls," Peter starts, sharing a meaningful look with Charlotte.

Bree stops shoveling dirt on top of her own prey. "What?"

"Well we know how sensitive the two of you still are," Charlotte began in that same damning hesitant tone.

"Go on," I growl.

"You know the missing member of our coven? Our Jasper?"

They had told us about the Major that had saved them all those years ago. He's been cavorting with another coven, a strange one, captivated by their different lifestyle. "Yeah, so? Doesn't he come around every few decades or so?"

Peter nods. His silvery hair shines in the dim light from a street lamp. "Yeah, but this time we're coming to him."

"Peter _knows_ something big is coming," Charlotte rushes. "We think it might have something to do with the two of you."

"Why would you think that?" Bree demands. She looks at me, hands on her hips, as if to say _told you so._

"I don't know why, I just _know_ ," Peter huffs, obviously frustrated.

"We also think Maria might want _us_ back," Charlotte says softly.

Bree and I fall silent. The defensive poses we adopted without realizing droop instantly.

"Oh no," Bree whimpers.

My eyes linger on the scars littering their bodies. They had never frightened me, but sometimes they bother Bree. I can't remember how many times she's told me that she will never again allow someone to lay a violent hand on her. It disturbs her the most, what Peter and Charlotte lived through long before we were ever born as humans.

"That's not gonna happen. That's why we're visiting Jasper," Peter assures us.

We finish up and shuffle back up the street. Peter loops his arm through mine. I rest my head against his shoulder as we walk. Charlotte's arm snakes around Bree's waist. Between the two of them, she and I hold hands.

We are a family, a very decently sized coven of four. They took us in when we had nowhere to go, and no knowledge of our new species. They trained us to defend ourselves, paid for the beginnings of our formal education, taught us how to feed and taught us how to determine right from wrong in a world of extremes. They became our older brother and sister, teasing us, laughing with us, guiding us. They showed us what mates are. They showed us what a vampiric relationship should be like, the standards we should set for ourselves.

I squeeze Bree's hand. She squeezes mine. Warmth and affection rush through me. This is my family; two sisters and a brother where before I was beaten, forsaken, and _alone_.

I will be damned if anyone takes it away.


	2. Chapter 2

**March 15, 2006 (Dawn)**

When we pull up to the house, it is brightly lit. Our sensitive eyes can see it from the highway; just in case, Peter parks the car off the shoulder and hides it with branches. Bree and I used to tease him for being paranoid, but there's something about this place that puts me on my guard.

"Does it ever stop raining?" Bree whispers as Peter works.

Charlotte shakes her head mournfully, dark curls falling artfully across her face. Her scars shimmer in the pre-dawn light.

When Peter is through, we turn as a group and start running. I pause and am half a second behind the others to take off my shoes. Running barefoot has always come more naturally to me, and besides, why ruin a good pair of shoes in all this mud? It had taken Bree and I a long time in the motel hours before to decide on the perfect outfits. We'd never met any other vampires besides Peter and Charlotte.

I think about their eyes as I run. Peter said they were weird. How weird? Why? The red of my own used to disturb me, but now I am used to it.

This place smells of trees and mud and rain and deer and further out, something that almost burns. The closer we get to the house, the staler the air becomes, as though no one has been here in months. But if the house is so brightly lit, surely this coven has a home here?

Peter, Charlotte, and Bree are several seconds ahead of me now; I've been daydreaming as I run and it's slowing me down. Peter and Charlotte always nagged at me for this; Bree is far faster than I am anyway, with her body so small and lithe and her mind so sharp. Nearly a year later, I am still distracted by the variety of my own thoughts.

"Peter, Charlotte. Wonderful to see you. I see you've brought the one along, but we were expecting two?" A deep voice, a distinct Southern drawl. Questioning, warm, _wonderful_. He's speaking at vampire speed.

Peter responds in kind. "Yes. This is Bree-"

I burst through the trees and into the clearing, gliding to a smooth stop next to my coven. This, too, startles me. I always expect to skid like a human.

I grin up at the vampires staring aghast at me down from the porch. The house is beautiful, all light and airy and blending perfectly with its surroundings. That strange stale smell still lingers, and behind the coven I see sheets on the furniture. Ah. Vacation home, maybe?

There is a tall blonde vampire with looks to kill. She seems horrified, and the large vampire behind her has a protective and stabilizing hand on her shoulder. Another, smaller vampire with choppy black hair and a vacant expression that reminds me of Peter. Two vampires holding each other in statuesque poses, clearly the host and hostess. Another with bronze hair and a pained expression that gives me that same odd forgetful feeling. And in front of them all, Major Jasper Whitlock. Peter and Charlotte had shown us pictures on the way. That must have been where the Southern accent was coming from. All of the members of his new coven share strange golden eyes. It's off-putting, to say the least.

I open my mouth to speak. "I'm-"

" _Bella_ ," the coven collectively gasps.

Then all hell breaks loose.

"It's _Isa_ bella," I grumble in confusion.

In the same moment, the bronze-haired boy vamp lunges for Peter. Peter spaces out. Jasper lunges to prevent the bronze one from slamming into Peter. Our hostess begins that weird non-crying that vampires do when their emotions overcome them. The leggy blonde growls in rage and storms into the confines of the house. The large one that is clearly her mate whirls to face me.

The move startles me, and I crouch defensively, teeth bared. Bree screams in fear and offense at whatever new threat this is and lunges for the large vampire. Before she has even moved, the short one with the pixie-cut has blocked her path. I blink, wondering if I've processed that correctly.

Charlotte flashes to the side of our host, their murmurs too quiet for even vampires to make out under the sound of boulders clashing; Jasper is running interference between the wrathful bronze one and Peter. Underneath the din of noise I can hear my name, mutilated and shortened, over and over: "Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella, _Bella!_ "

Overwhelmed, I run.

I sprint through more mud, into the trees. The hem of my short skirt tears against the branches. Bree will be pissed at the missing sequins; technically she loaned me this one. Still, the fear pounding within me makes my venomous teeth ache. I can feel my eyes dry and turn black.

How do those vampires know me? Am I Bella, not Isabella? Are they connected to the ones who took and turned Bree and I? Do they know Bree, too? Am I safe here?

I leap over a river, change my mind halfway through, and plunge downward instead. If I remain above ground, they can track me by smell. The rush of water is a relief; mud stirs around me as I sink and then settle against the riverbed. There are fishes here, and tiny insects, and river plants, and interesting rocks.

My dark hair flows up, up, as though trying to reach the surface without me. The creatures swim all the way around it, closer to the surface than they'd ordinarily be. I'm a predator, and they're prey. I roll my eyes; they're going to give me away with their stupid fish instincts.

Still, I sit and I try very hard not to think. Eventually, Peter and Charlotte will come find me. Peter will tell his _knower_ to go screw itself and Bree and I can go back to our bayou home and not leave again for at least another year.

The longer I sit and soak at the bottom of the river, the more peaceful I become. Anyone that followed would have attacked me by now. The sun rises slowly, turning the water beautiful shades of purple, red, orange, and gold. Light refracts all around me, my shimmering skin turning the bottom of the river into a work of art. I grin, looking around at all the glimmering rocks, the shine off the fishes' scales.

Then my beautiful underwater world is ruined when further downstream, close to a bend, someone else jumps in. They too sink slowly; their white t-shirt absorbs some of the beautiful color of my dawn as it becomes translucent, but their skin makes up for it by throwing its own light.

 _Ah. Jasper._

He catches my gaze as he sinks, folding his legs underneath him to sit on the riverbed. For several long moments, we just stare at each other. I take the time to notice everything I hadn't really had the presence of mind to catalogue before. His hair is dirty-blond, and long, though I find myself wishing it was longer. The direction of the stream pushes it back, keeping it out of his eyes. Those eyes are the same golden hue as the rest of this bizarre coven, but his are darker, as though he has not fed in a while longer. His frame is wiry but strong. He's tall. He has more scars than Charlotte and Peter, and they do interesting things in the refracted light, making far different patterns than mine does.

Fascinated, I turn on my side in the water, floating up far enough to swim his way. He lets me, sitting perfectly still. If I were a human, it would be entirely unnerving, but as a vampire I'm grateful. I wonder, vaguely, if I would be more intimidated if I hadn't been "raised" by Peter and Charlotte and their scars.

When I reach him, I seat myself in much the same position, only with me facing him, the current sends my hair streaming around the side of my face in his direction. He notices and snickers at its wildness, but otherwise remains unmoved. Undeterred, I hold out my hand, demanding inspection.

He gives it to me slowly, slower even than a human pace would be, but I have played this game with Peter and Charlotte before. I don't react with impatience or other newborn indignances. I wait, and when he lays his hand in mine, he rewards me with an approving nod. I roll my eyes; it was Bree that always struggled with her emotions and excelled physically. I was the other way around.

I take my eyes from his to study the scars on his hands and wrists. They're thicker around his fingers and knuckles, as though he's had them bitten off repeatedly and reattached. I wince on his behalf. Where my own inner wrist is smooth, his is jagged as though it has edges from the bites. Millions of tiny crystalline ridges live in the scars, though, and if I had any breath in me it would be swept away by the beauty of his skin. It's a rainbow of color and a playground of texture. I've never done this with Peter or Charlotte before, and neither Bree nor I have scars of our own, though I vaguely remember being bitten as a human during the torture sessions my creators put me through.

I trace my fingers against his scars reverently, watching as the water of the river and the light mixes my refractions with his. They disappear when I take my fingers from his, but I move my hand to his wrist instead and rotate his entire arm as gently as I can, eyes shifting from his skin to the walls of the river around us.

Light dances in innumerable patterns around us, as though we exist inside a kaleidoscope. I let out a breath of a delighted laugh and the bubbles float up between us. I turn back to him, my hair truly a wild sort of halo now, and I grin.

He's watching me with so many emotions they're difficult to name as they flicker across his face in nanoseconds; awe, wonder, pain, longing, joy, recognition, and something I cannot name.

He points toward the surface. I glance once more at the colors surrounding us, trying to memorize them, and then I nod.

Together, we rise toward the surface of the river.


End file.
